Inspired By
by Sweetloot
Summary: A series of fics inspired by songs. Each chapter has a different main character or pairing, so there is something for everyone! The main character or pairing will appear in parenthesis beside the chapter title. I can't give a comprehensive summary for each since each chapter is a "stand alone" fic, but do give it a read! There will be mature themes, so be warned.
1. How to Save a Life (Tuckington)

Summary: Tucker makes a mistake.

Inspired by: "How to Save a Life" by The Fray.

(Originally written June 14th 2014)

* * *

If only he had gotten there sooner. If only he had been faster, smarter, stronger, _better_. Why did he believe that it would be easy, why did he believe that they would just leave important information so poorly protected, _of course_ it had been a trap.

He keeps thinking over and over again, where did he go wrong? The answer: everywhere.

He was impulsive, taking risks he shouldn't of.

And because of that he lost a friend.

The worst thing was telling Caboose how badly he had fucked up.

Because it wasn't just Tucker that lost a friend, every one of them did.

He stayed up with Caboose all night, consoling the soldier as he dealt with another person he cared about leaving.

Tucker rubs Caboose's armor-less back, holding back his own tears.

He hadn't been fast enough, hadn't been strong enough, and sure as fuck hasn't been smart enough.

Why the _hell_ did he think he could save a life.


	2. Tears Don't Fall (Grimmons)

Summary: _...they crash around me._

Inspired by "Tears Don't Fall" by Bullet for My Valentine.

(Originally written June 14th 2014)

* * *

He had felt his hand slip, had been cursing himself for not grabbing onto his falling friend with his robotic arm instead of his weak human one.

Simmons rolls over, thinking about that moment over and over again, carving it into his mind.

He looks at the bunk on the other side of the room, trying to believe that if he looks hard enough, his bloodshot human eye and his glitching robotic one could see Grif under the covers, turning to get comfortable.

Sitting up, Simmons walks over to where Grif should be, swearing he could feel the phantom heat of his body.

A tear slides down his face, his other eye achingly wishing it could do the same.

He had held it together in front of Sarge, walking silently passed as he went to where their ride was waiting for them.

But now, in the darkness, he felt the tears crash around him, his hands shaking as he falls apart.


	3. Already Over (Yorkalina)

Summary: York's death affects her more than she lets on.

Inspired by "Already Over" by Red.

(Originally written June 14th 2014)

* * *

She's haunted.

Not in the usual way though. Not in the way someone says they're haunted when a glass falls off the table or when the lights flicker by themselves.

She's haunted all the way to her bones, suffocating her, phantom fingers tightening around her windpipe as she fights to escape.

She can't run from the feeling though, can't hide, because it's already over. He's a part of her, a part of something that was just beginning, but didn't get the chance to thrive.

She's breaking, falling, wishing she'd shatter into pieces. Wishing his ghost would fade at the same time she holds on tighter so he won't slip away.

But she's too late, York's already buried deep below her skin, there's no escaping what he meant to her.

It's already over.


	4. Headstrong (Connie)

Summary: The Director was full of shit.

Inspired by "Headstrong" by Trapt.

(Originally written June 14th 2014)

* * *

She was determined, stubborn, headstrong, _right_. She knew something was going on in Project Freelancer, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.

This wasn't where she belonged, but it was where she _needed_ to be. She knew The Director had hidden motives, had an agenda that wasn't just winning the war. She only needed to find out what that was.

She knew it would likely get her killed, giving away all the information she had, but it was a risk she was willing to take because The Director was full of shit and she was going to prove it.

She _knew_ she was right, and she would take on anyone that stood in her way.


	5. Breaking the Habit (Wash)

Summary: Wash was not crazy.

Inspired by "Breaking the Habit" by Linkin Park.

* * *

On bad days he couldn't distinguish between what memories belonged to him and which were Epsilon's.

On worse days he locked himself away, picking at the wounds in his mind, trying to get rid of what wasn't _him_ because he was tired of being confused, tired of wanting to scream himself raw.

Wash didn't know if this was worth fighting for, didn't know if digging himself out would only result in burring himself deeper.

He didn't know how he got this way, this broken shell of person that could barely function.

He didn't know if he could find himself, but he needed to try to start again, needed to find _Wash_ because he had no other options. It was either clarity or insanity.

And Wash was not crazy.


	6. Hero (Sister)

Summary: "As her eyes closed she realized Dex wasn't going to get there in time."

Inspired by "Hero" by Skillet.

(Originally written June 14th 2014)

* * *

_'Dex? Dex, where are you? Why's it so dark? I'm scared, come back.'_

Sister drew in a shaky breath, chest aching as it got harder and harder to fill her lungs with air.

She had been pacing outside of Blue Base, waiting for signs of the others coming back. She had gotten tired of throwing raves. Ten bucks was a shitty profit. Besides, the stereo had broken and what was a party without music? Boring. She could have gotten drunk, don't need music for that to be fun, but drinking alone was sad and they didn't even have alcohol in the first place. Lame.

The Blue guys had been gone a really long time. She knew that some cops had come and taken them away, something about them having to go some place else now, but she figured they would have busted out and come back by now. The only Reds that were left were Mister Sargent and Robo McDickless, and those two were no fun, didn't even bother to RSVP to her parties. She had sent an invite and everything!

She had eventually gone up to the top of the base to see if she could get a better view, hoping she could see if anyone was coming back, but all she saw was Sargent dude...and he was leaving? Ugh, now it was only Robo left and all he did was complain.

She hadn't seen Lopez on the top of the cliffs, hadn't seen the glint off his body or the way the sun reflected off his sniper rifle. It wasn't until she was falling off the roof that she realized she'd been shot.

Everything was getting dark, her vision blurring around the edges. Where was Dex? Why wasn't he here? He was always there.

There was that one time she broke a plate and got glass in her foot and Dex was there with mom's tweezers, an old shirt, and a bottle of whiskey that their mom didn't know that they knew she hid in the back of the toilet. They didn't have a proper first-aid kit, but Dex had been improvising for a long time so he got her foot patched up, called her a dumbass, then made supper.

Then there was that one time she had gone to a party with "friends" only to be left ass-backwards drunk on some sleazy guy's couch. She didn't remember much, but Dex had told her she had called him at four in the fucking morning asking to go home. He had somehow found the place with her half-formed, hazy recollection about where she was, then dragged her ass to his truck and took her home. He had yelled at her once she got over he hangover because even he wasn't so much of an ass to shout at her when she was retching into a toilet. She had bought him a pack of double-stuffed oreos as an apology.

Then the military had taken him, leaving her alone, but then she found him again and things were alright. Then he was taken again and she didn't know where, so she had stayed, thinking that maybe he'd come back.

But he didn't.

Her next breath rattled in her lungs, the back of her tongue tasting like she had swallowed wet pennies. She tried clawing at the breastplate, hands shakily searching for the latches, but her hands wouldn't listen, fumbling until she was too weak to keep trying.

As her eyes closed she realized Dex wasn't going to get there in time.

She wasn't ready to die.

_'I don't want to be alone.'_


	7. All Black (Chex)

Summary: "The first time he saw her it was after one in the morning."

Inspired by "All Black" by Good Charlotte.

(Originally written June 15th 2014)

* * *

The first time he saw her it was after one in the morning. He had been wandering the city, not feeling too keen on going back to the couch he had been sleeping on in his friend's apartment while said friend fucked his boyfriend through the wall.

He really, _really_ didn't need to know what Tucker sounded like mid-orgasm, nor did he need to know that "David" liked it rough. _Ugh_, he really needed a drink, but somehow he found himself at the all-night diner.

People thought that Church was strange, from the moment he decided to be called by his last name to the way he refused to kiss anyone's ass. Church knew people thought he was weird, and he couldn't give less of a shit, so when some dickwad at one of the booths stared at him when he came into the diner in a dingy tank-top and pajama pants, he sneered at them until they cowered into their pancakes.

It wasn't until after he had ordered did he notice the woman at the small table in the corner, coffee in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other. She was wearing a baggy black hoodie, her brown hair tied in a messy ponytail at the nape of her neck. She blew out a stream of smoke, obviously agitated at something she was reading on her phone.

He didn't even realize he was staring until she looked up, brown eyes locking with his, eyebrow arched in such a way that he knew she'd punch him in the dick if he kept staring.

He was saved from being curled up in a ball on the floor from someone calling for a "Tex" to get back to work.

The woman pocketed her phone, stubbing out her cigarette into the bottom of her empty cup, before heading to the door that lead to the kitchen.

Church could have sworn he saw her smirk at him when she looked over her shoulder, catching him watching her walk away.

Maybe Church didn't mind Tucker having his boyfriend over after all.


	8. Hall of Fame (Donut)

Summary: "Captivity really made staying positive difficult."

Inspired by "Hall of Fame" by The Script.

(Originally written June 15th 2014)

* * *

Captivity really made staying positive difficult.

Sarge had stopped talking, only muttering the occasional "shotgun" and grunting when nothing happened. Wash had tried to get him to talk, but could only do so much when he actually couldn't walk over to him.

They were all separated from each other, links of chain anchoring them to the walls of their tiny room.

Donut still talked to Sarge though, reminiscing about all the good times they had at Blood Gulch. Sarge didn't talk back, no big surprise, but he did get a small puff of a laugh out of the other man when he reminded him about the time Grif had stolen from Sarge's stash of MREs and had food poisoning for a week because the pack he took had been older than Sarge was.

Wash was taken every so often, coming back hours later with more bruises blooming up his arms and across his face. Wash was never hit while inside the room, but Donut could imagine the sound of fists hitting Wash's unprotected body. He shuddered at the thought. Wash had said not to worry about it, but Donut knew he mouthed off on purpose, hoping that if they focused on him they'd leave the others alone.

Donut tried to get him to stop, but the man could be even more stubborn than Sarge when he wanted to be.

Once, Wash took the snark a little too far, the guard sent in to get him having a shorter fuse than the others. The guard had picked Wash up by the front of his shirt, fist pulled back to strike him, then quickly dropped him when something hit him in the back of the head.

The guard had lifted his hand up, touching the back of his head, and recoiled when he found his glove was wet.

Sarge had spit at him, the most movement his CO had done in a long time.

The guard had backhanded Sarge with a heavily armored glove before storming out of the room, grumbling about disgusting prisoners.

Wash kept calling Sarge's name, Donut looking on worriedly when Sarge kept looking at the floor. Donut was relieved when Sarge looked up at them, a bloody smile on his face, claiming that no one hurt his men but him.

Donut didn't know how long they would be there, didn't know if help would arrive, but he knew one thing: they've been though hell, but they've beating hell before, and they could do it again.


	9. Papercut (Maine)

Summary: Something was really wrong with his AI.

Inspired by "Papercut" by Linkin Park.

(Originally written June 17th 2014)

* * *

Something was really wrong with his AI.

It wasn't really noticeable at first. In the beginning he had just been glad to have a way to effectively communicate with his team again, but as time went on he began to notice Sigma behaving oddly.

Sigma sometimes changed the inflection of his words, not communicating them the way Maine had intended for them to be communicated. Maine didn't really care if a slight difference in intonation offended someone, but the idea that his AI could possibly change the meaning of what he said troubled him.

He had a conversation with Sigma about that and was assured that his AI would run a full diagnostic on his language algorithms to ensure that they were running optimally so there would be no further mistakes.

Maine had grunted, his thought to the AI being a simple _'good'_ before he had gone to train.

It got worse after that.

Sometimes he would wake up exhausted, feeling as though he only got a few hours sleep when really he had gone to bed for the standard eight hours he allotted himself. Maine shrugged it off though, assuming it was just left over stress from their last mission and left it at that.

It wasn't until later when North had asked him if Sigma had been talking to Theta that he started thinking his tiredness wasn't just from the mission.

"I'm not accusing you of anything, but has Sigma been around Theta lately? When I woke up this morning he seemed freaked out. I tried to get him to tell me what was wrong, but all I got was that Sigma would be mad at him if he told. Do you know what that was about?"

Maine didn't. It was against protocol for their AIs to interact with each other. It was a little difficult in Maine's case given that Sigma had to communicate for him, but the others were always careful to have their AIs away when speaking to him, so, no, Maine didn't know anything about that. He hadn't even been around North for the past few days, different missions and training schedules not matching up keeping them apart. Maine gave Sigma the go ahead to explain.

"I am sorry, Agent North, but Agent Maine does not know why your AI would be behaving in this way. Agent Maine has not been in your vicinity in the past three days and, therefore, would not have had the opportunity to come into contact with Theta. Perhaps there has been a mistake?"

North tilted his head to the side, thinking. "That is true, but Theta wouldn't lie about this."

"Perhaps he is malfunctioning?"

"I don't know, maybe. I'll take him to go get checked out later. Sorry about that, Maine."

Maine grunted, thinking _'whatever'_, but what Sigma said instead was, "Not a problem, North."

That wasn't the last time he would say something not quite like what Maine wanted to say.

There were days when Maine was fine, sleeping alright, but then the days where he would be tired for no reason would come back. Maine was starting to think he was paranoid.

Then the blackouts started.

They were small, at first. Maine noticing he was zoning out during briefings and would have to have Sigma relay to him what he missed.

There were other moments like during lunch where he would blank out only to have Sigma be speaking to Wash about something, the kid replying with food in his mouth.

The more worrying moments were when he would be in one place one moment, then somewhere else the next.

Sigma wouldn't listen to him though, claiming that everything was functional and that he had nothing to worry about.

The blackouts became more frequent, lasting for longer and longer periods of time.

He tried getting help, but Sigma never relayed his messages, took control whenever he thought about getting rid of the AI or messaging someone through his HUD.

Sometimes he's out of it completely, other times he's vaguely aware of what's going on around him, but can't do anything about it. He knows that Sigma is collecting AI, he's aware of his talks with the other fragments when the other Freelancers are sleeping, is aware that he's killing his friends, stealing their tech and implanting himself with their AI.

He knows he's falling apart, can tell his mind is splintering and his body is failing him, can feel the way Sigma pushes him on further anyway.

Maine knows he'll never be himself again, knows that even if he did get rid of the AI in his head that he'd be just a shell of the man he used to be, a shell with a mind cracking to pieces with the ghost of the AI he's had in his head haunting him, their ambitions and goals clouding over his own. He still tries to fight it though, tries to claw them out of his head, but Sigma won't let him, simply taking control and blacking out his mind again.

The last time he's awake, the last time he's himself and not shattering into pieces, he's wondering who shot Wash.


	10. Break the Ice (Tuckington)

Summary: "Tucker thought the way he said his name was probably one of the hottest things he'd ever heard."

Inspired by "Break the Ice" by Brittany Spears.

(Originally written June 17th 2014)

* * *

_'Lavernius'_

He said his name like it was a curse, molten hot, and burning. Tucker didn't even care how he knew his first name, didn't care how condescending he made it sound, didn't care that they were in the middle of an argument, because the way he made his name sound dirty without even trying was short circuiting his brain's ability to care.

That didn't stop him from continuing their shouting match though.

Even while they continued to argue, he filed away the way Wash's voice formed his name, the way it dripped from his tongue. Tucker didn't even know what the former Freelancer looked like, the other man's paranoia translating into him hardly ever taking off his armor, but Tucker thought the way he said his name was probably one of the hottest things he'd ever heard.

Later, when he was back in his bunk, when his hand was gliding down his stomach to fist his cock, he wondered what other ways Wash could say his name. Wondered if he could get the other man to growl it, to sigh it into his neck, to moan it, back arching and cum hitting his chest while Tucker jerked him off.

As his fist moved faster he wondered how quickly he could shatter the other man's icy exterior, how long it would take to get him to be panting, sweat dripping down his brow as Tucker sucked hot, burning hickeys down his throat, lapping at the hollow of his collarbone before nipping his way down his chest, teasing the other man by going down his leg, kissing and biting his inner thigh.

He wondered how long he could get away with teasing him, if Wash would grab at Tucker's dreads, leading him back to his dick. He wondered if the other man would be able to hold out to Tucker's teasing, waiting for him to get there on his own.

Either way he'd be licking a stripe up the underside of the man's cock, tracing the vein there before settling his lips at the tip, sucking lightly because he couldn't help but tease him, waiting until the other man's breath hitched, satisfied that he could rattle the usually stoic man so much.

He'd then sink his head down quickly, hand fisting what he couldn't get in his mouth. He'd hear a string of curses fly out Wash's mouth, look up to see his CO's mouth hanging open, his breath coming out in ragged puffs.

Tucker would attempt to smirk, realizing the motion would be lost with his mouth occupied, then bob his head down, alternating between harsh sucks and lazy swirls of his tongue, trying to see what worked and what didn't.

He'd run an experimental drag of teeth down his shaft, lightly as to not hurt him, then feel a flash of pride when Wash cursed loudly, hands scrabbling at the wall behind him for purchase.

He'd feel Wash tense when he'd run his tongue under the head, hear his breath pick up pace just as Tucker works his mouth faster, pumping his hand in time.

Tucker would hear Wash curse, hear him warn him he was about to cum. Tucker would pull his mouth away, his hand continuing in his stead. He'd rise off his knees, kiss at the bruises littering the ex-freelancers neck before working his way upwards until he was hovering at his ear. He'd lick at the shell, feel the way the other man shuddered, before whispering, "Say my name."

And he would, loudly, shouting it like curse as he'd cum across Tucker's fingers.

Tucker could feel the stickiness, was panting heavily, lying in his own bunk with the echoed shout of Wash's name on his lips.

And, as he rubbed the remainder of his fantasy away onto a discarded shirt, he wondered what other ways he could say Wash's name.


	11. He Lives in You (South)

Summary: _"I always thought being a twin was a hard thing."_

Inspired by "He Lives in You" from "The Lion King 2".

(Originally written June 22nd 2014).

* * *

South punches the mirror, shards falling like broken stars, her hand coming back bloody. There was a reason she didn't take her helmet off much these days, a reason why she avoided her reflection as much as possible.

He was looking at her.

She always resented being a twin, from the way her parents dressed them alike to the way everyone lumped them together, expecting them to be a package deal. She _hated it_.

He was always there, always looking at her. He was in her reflection, in the cant of her nose and the squint of her eyes. He saw everything, everything she did and she _couldn't escape._

She might not have been the one to pull the trigger, but she was every bit as responsible in North's death as the one that did. It was easier than she would like to admit to ignore North's cries, to walk away from where he was pinned down, to put him in the position to be killed. The Meta was predictable and paid little attention to the twin without an AI.

She let her jealousy and bitter resentment take over, to cloud any positive feeling she had for her brother until nothing was left but a feeling of inadequacy so vile she could taste it.

It wasn't until she was kneeling by his body did she start to regret what she had done.

She had been telling the truth when Wash had come to collect North's equipment.

_'All I ever wanted was to have my own life. And here I am now, just wondering how I'm gonna live without him.'_

_Live without him._

She was never alone, he was _always there_, reminding her in the darkest nights that he cared, that he was there, and she could just _scream_ she was so frustrated.

South stared at her reflection, the millions of ways it splintered, the darkening circles under her eyes making her look even paler than before. If she stared too long, she could swear she could see North behind her, a frown on his face, hand landing on her shoulder, trying to console her.

She closes her eyes.

She could still hear Theta's screams, the frantic crying of a child watching a parent be killed and not being able to do a thing about it.

She didn't expect that voice to turn angry, to start shouting at her through her headset.

_'Where were you! North needed you! How could you leave him behind! Please come back! North's not breathing! We need you! North needs you! Please, there's something coming! Help, they're taking me-!'_

A buzzing fills her head, then nothing.

She's breathing hard, Theta's screams bouncing off the bathroom walls.

She slams her hand against the mirror again, ignoring the cuts littering her hand, tries her best to block out the last of Theta's shouts, his voice bastardized and taken over with the voices of other AI, angry and cutting, reminding her that she can never escape.

_'He lives in you!'_


	12. Shut Up and Dance With Me (Yorkalina)

Summary: _"So I'm just sitting there at the bar, bored out of my skull, and I'm flicking this lighter off and on, then from out of nowhere, she walks up and she just grabs the lighter, right outta my hand and she goes-"_

Inspired by "Shut Up and Dance" by Walk the Moon.

(Originally written June 23rd 2014).

* * *

York was in a foul mood, the run down planet-side club he found was grimy and in disrepair, but still filled with people having a good time, grinding or simply holding each other close.

York ignored it though, he just heard he got pulled to be in some sort of "war-winning" project. It wasn't that he didn't think it was a noble cause, he did, but he only had one week left until he was supposed to be on leave and he had been imagining relaxing in the hammock his father hung in the old oak tree out back every summer, of sipping tea with his mother and stealing cigarettes from his brother, dodging the rocks he would eventually start throwing, laughing when their mother swatted his older sibling in the head, berating the both of them for acting like fools.

Now though, that wasn't going to happen. It was going to be years before he saw his family again and he wasn't looking forward to calling them with that news, of seeing their tight smiles when they reassured him that it was alright, that they understood.

York titled the glass on the bar in front of him, watched the way the amber liquid sloshed at the bottom. He didn't have enough money on him to get another drink, disappointed that he couldn't drown his troubles away, disappointed he couldn't smoke his troubles away either, his last pack empty, the lighter he kept in his pocket mocking him.

He lifts the glass up to his lips, tilts his head back until it's empty, setting the glass down with a dull thud. He wipes the condensation on his fingers to his pants, digs in his pocket until he finds his lighter. He may not be able to smoke, but at least this will keep him mildly entertained. He wonders how long it'll take to get kicked out for playing with fire in at a bar.

York was so _bored_, he should just leave, maybe go kick rocks to complete the sulking teenager image he was starting to get. He debates getting up, flicking the lighter in his hand absentmindedly.

He was about to go when the lighter was ripped from his hand, a voice rising to speak over the music blaring from the speakers. "Stand up."

York turned on his stool, bringing the person speaking into full view. She had a scowl on her features, green eyes piercing. Her hair was bright red, pulled into a lazy bun on top of her head, a few pieces falling down and framing her face. Her frown deepened when he didn't move.

York honestly didn't know what to say because, really, what do you say in a situation like this? So he complied, standing up and facing the woman.

She was about a head shorter than him, a light blue dress clinging to her, the fabric stopping a few inches above the knee. She didn't give him much time to look though, sharp, red painted nails grabbing at his arm, dragging him to the dance floor.

"Hey – _ow_ – watch it!"

She ignored him, pulling him until they were in the middle of a sea of bodies. She stepped up close to him, going for what can be considered a whisper when trying to be heard in a crowded club. "Shut up and dance with me."

York was bewildered. _"Why?"_

"Because, if you want your lighter back, you'll shut up and start dancing." Then she moved against him, pushing his body until he had no choice but to react or get trampled by the people around him.

York was, admittedly, an awful dancer, especially if the way she scowled every time he stepped on her sneaker-clad feet. He had no idea why she would want to dance with him, but from the way her eyes scanned the crowd, it probably wasn't because she thought he was the hottest person in here.

York attempted to try and see what she was seeing, her eyes landing on something just behind him. He took the initiative and started to turn them, his eyes catching a group of sleazy looking people at a table in the corner, one of their eyes catching York's before a hand at his chin jerked his head down. "Keep your eyes on me." Her voice broke no room for argument.

York did, lifting an eyebrow at his dance partner. "Not that I'm not a catch or anything, but what's with the impromptu musical number? I don't think your audience over there is enjoying the show."

Said audience appeared agitated, some twisting around in their seats to look over at them.

"That's none of your business."

"Well, you are the one that kidnapped me. I think I have a little bit of a right to know what the hell is going on."

"No, you don't. I have your lighter, therefore it's my rules."

"I have plenty of lighters," No, he didn't, "so I think I'll just be on my way." He attempted to pull away, but her grip on his arm tightened.

"Alright, fine. Those guys over there haven't left me alone until right now and all I want is one night to forget the pile of shit my life is turning into, okay?"

York could understand that, it was the reason he came here in the first place, but something didn't quite add up.

"I get it, but you're obviously holding back. You could break skinny over there in half by breathing on him, so what's the real reason you don't just show them you don't appreciate the attention?"

She actually smiled at that, the look going away as quickly as it came. "Because, this is my second club of the night. The first one I went to kicked me out after I broke some guy's nose."

York barked out a laugh, nodding his head. This woman was tougher than hell, she could definitely take care of herself.

"Fair enough. So, why me?"

She cocks her head to the side. "What about you?"

"There are a lot of people to choose from in here, why pick me?"

"Because, you look like the least drunk asshole out of the bunch."

York snorts. "And?"

"And because you were here alone and if you would have touched me in a way I didn't like, no one would be in here searching for your body."

York moves his hands up to the middle of her back, having a mini freak out when he realized that her dress was back-less.

The woman laughs. "Relax, you're definitely the most well behaved dance partner I've ever had."

"That's because I was raised a gentleman...and I rather not get kicked in the crotch."

"I'll keep that in mind."

York looks over back to the table, noticing that their audience appears to have left.

"Don't I get to know the name of my lighter's kidnapper?"

She smirks at him. "Seems fair, only if I get to know yours in return. I'm Carol."

"Carol, a pleasure to meet you." He makes an exaggerated bow, she snorts at him. "I'm James."

He stands back up, resuming their dance. "Good to know, now keep your eyes on me."

He looks into her eyes. "Your admirers have left, you know."

She smiles, "I know."

Hours later, they're standing outside of the club, a little buzzed from Carol buying him a drink.

York didn't know what to do. Nothing would come from a one-night stand, especially with him having to leave soon. He was still disappointed at not being able to see his family, but his nerves were buzzing from a mixture of good booze and better company.

Carol seemed to be in a better mood, too. A cigarette perched between painted red lips, his lighter flicking open to light it. She blew a ring, letting out an amused laughed when it hit York in the face.

"I didn't think I would, but I've had a good time."

York nodded, looking out into the street. When she didn't say anything else, he looked to her. She didn't seem happy, whatever it was that made her want to escape her life, if only for one night, probably still on her mind, but she didn't seem sad either. She seemed content.

York was content to. He might not be going home, but this was a good moment, even if he would never see her again.

York opens his mouth, "I guess this is good-"

She step towards him, places a finger against his mouth, a sharp look in her eye. "I hate goodbyes, so don't say it." She seemed to debate whether or not to say what she was going to say next, but seemed to decide to say it anyway. "My mother used to tell me 'Never say goodbye. If you don't say goodbye, then you aren't really gone. You...just aren't here right now.' I'd like to just not be here right now, if it's all the same to you."

York just nodded, watching her step back from him. "Thanks for the dance, James." And then she was gone, walking down the street and disappearing around a corner.

He didn't notice until he got back to his hotel that she still had his lighter.


	13. Your Love is My Drug (Lolix)

Summary: _I've got a sick obsession._

Inspired by "Your Love is My Drug" by Ke$ha.

(Originally written August 4th 2014).

* * *

Felix wasn't stupid, he knew what all of those psychologists, therapists, counselors, day-time television shows, and after school specials said about obsessions, relationships, and, _ha_, "true love", Felix just didn't give a fuck about any of that. He liked what he liked, took what he wanted, and didn't give a damn about the collateral damage.

And he liked Locus.

Well, okay, he didn't _like_ Locus, but they worked well together. What Locus had was hard to find, every other person Felix had the displeasure of working with being too slow, too stupid, too soft, but Locus? He wasn't any of those things and he was too good to let go, despite the fact that being with Locus was not exactly the best thing for Felix's well being, gunshots and stab wounds being a frequent thing between them.

Okay, he may not _like_ Locus, but he didn't really _hate_ him either...or he _did_...it was _complicated_, okay, but it worked. Locus was the cold calculation and the quick, professional efficiency and Felix was the one with the charismatic smiles and the saccharine slicked tongue.

What they did together, what they could accomplish, it was _beautiful_, and Felix was addicted.

Some of Felix's associates in the past had questioned Felix's choice to work with someone like Locus, someone who wouldn't think twice about getting rid of someone who had outlived their usefulness. They had said the price of working with Locus wasn't worth it. Felix had just smiled, twirling the knife between his fingers with a lazy twist of his wrist.

"Well," Felix had shrugged, holding the blade with a firmer grip, "I guess I better not out live my usefulness," before letting it fly, "like you."

Being with Locus was a strong addiction, but the price was worth the rush when Locus, so rigid, like glass but stronger, became a snarling, growling, biting mess under Felix. Making noises that made Felix want to purr, holding the blade in his hand more firmly against Locus' neck, relishing the feel of the too bruising, too biting to ever be confused with a kiss feeling of Locus attacking Felix's mouth when he let up on the blade for a fraction of a second.

Locus was raw addiction, maybe that was why it felt like he was craving the other man whenever they tried to go their separate ways, wanting desperately to work with someone competent again so he could get back on his high, feeling like he was about to crash and burn before that could happen, then smirking whenever Locus would contact him first.

Being addicted to someone was a weakness, Felix was just glad that he wasn't the only one feeling the pull.


	14. Stay Young (Connie & Wash)

Summary: _But can you still remember your very first kiss?_  
_Or the future you hoped for when we were still kids?_

Inspired by "Stay Young" by Strata.

(Originally written August 5th 2014).

* * *

Wash remembers when he was a kid, silly straw in his juice box and the straw that came with the box tossed carelessly on the floor of the car. Juice tasted better through a silly straw, it was just science.

He remembers meeting a girl on the playground, his mom having brought him there so he could find some friends.

He remembers pulling her brown pigtail. He remembers her pushing him into the sand. He remembers crying for his mom and the girl calling him a baby before sitting in the sand with him, handing him a gummy shaped like a dinosaur and telling him to be quiet and eat it.

He remembers telling her she was mean but taking the gummy anyway, biting off the head because that's how you ate anything shaped like an animal.

He remembers her telling him her name was Constance and that she hated her name because there were too many letters and her teachers would get mad at her when she spelled it wrong.

He remembers telling her his name was David.

She said she was going to call him Davie and he was going to call her Connie because they were best friends now and best friends called each other by nicknames, her big sister said so.

He remembers shrugging, taking another gummy, and saying that made sense to him.

He remembers them being best friends for years, laughing and chasing each other through childhood. He remembers skid knees and smile face bandages and Connie pushing him downhill on a bike because he was in third grade and he didn't even know how to ride a bike yet and she was going to fix that.

He remembers her signing his cast while she sniffled beside him.

He remembers ruffling her hair and telling her to forget about it, he was probably going to do something stupid soon too.

He remembers helping her lifting her cast coated leg up onto pillows after going to the roller rink together and having their wheels get locked together, Davie falling on top of her and her leg taking the brunt of the impact.

He remembers kissing her in middle school, of her kissing him back, and of sticking their tongues out at each other afterward, wondering why people worried about their first kiss so much.

He remembers the first day of high school, of staying up late and worrying that they would drift apart, all of those shows on TV saying that's what happened to childhood friends once they entered high school.

He remembers Connie letting herself into this house and dumping a glass of cold water on his head to wake him up, saying that he may be her best friend, but she was _not_ going to be late because of his sorry ass.

Davie remembers smiling and Connie asking if he hit his head.

He remembers the night of prom, both of them single and thinking prom was stupid and not going, instead dancing in Davie's living room to bad pop music and throwing popcorn at each other when they got tired of dancing and decided to watch a cheesy horror movie.

He remembers late night talks, remembers plans for college, how they were going to room together – fuck the no co-ed roommates rule – he remembers talks of being neighbors, of her teasing him about all the cats he was going to own, of saying he'd name one after her just to spite her, of her saying he'd better not or else she'd get a dog and name it David. He remembers laughing, saying he wouldn't mind that.

He remembers when war broke through the blockade of ships surrounding Earth, remembers the sky painted with fire.

He remembers the day they walked to the recruitment station together, bags slung over their shoulders and not looking back.

He remembers training, remembers the way her small hands beat the kinks out of his back was almost worse than how he got them. He remembers helping her stretch, having catcalls thrown their way before Connie wiped the floor with them at hand-to-hand combat training.

Davie remembers the day he started going by David again, only letting Connie call him Davie when they were in private.

David remembers the war dragging on forever, of losing friends and squadmates, but always having Connie by his side, almost two heads shorter and always there to watch his back.

He remembers when she was counted as MIA after a battle, of demanding they go look for her, and having to bite so hard against his tongue he drew blood when his CO said that another word from him would get him a court martial.

He remembers sobbing into his hands, sitting on his bare bunk, the sheets at his feet, remembers the raw ache of loosing Connie, remembers staying up all night not believing she was gone.

He remembers being on patrol on too little sleep, remembers dragging his feet and wishing Connie was beside him to complain about the soggy, awful weather and to tell him it was his own fault he was tired, that he should have gone to bed sooner, stupid.

He remembers seeing a figure stumbling towards base in the distance, remembers raising a sniper rifle and peering through the sight, remembers dropping the rifle, forgetting his tiredness, and sprinting towards Connie, swooping in to catch her.

He remembers calling her a slew of names, remembers her laughing and telling him that she got them, those fuckers were dead. Remembers her chuckling, telling him he worried too much, she said she would always come back, they were best friends, remember?

David remembers sitting by her beside, arms pillowed onto her thigh as he waited for her to wake up so he could yell at her for being so stupid.

He remembers knife training, remembers her showing him the best way to grip the handle. He remembers nearly slicing his own finger off.

He remembers rising through the ranks, Connie always there, rising with him.

He remembers the day they were chosen for Project Freelancer.

He remembers their first mission.

He remembers her accomplishments.

She remembers her failures.

He remembers the day she tells him to stop calling her Connie, that it made her sound like a fucking kid.

He remembers the day Connie became C.T.

He remembers the day that she stopped calling him Davie was the day he stopped calling himself David.

He remembers that David is dead and Washington took his place.

He remembers them drifting apart, of her keeping secrets, not talking to him.

Wash remembers questioning where his best friend went.

He remembers one special day, one where she took off her helmet and smiled at him, asking if there was a seat left beside Davie at the lunch table and if she could join him.

He remembers smiling beneath his helmet, saying yes there was, but he was saving it for Connie.

He remembers them talking for hours, the lights dimming in the mess hall, of people leaving and going to bed.

He remembers telling her that he wished they had stayed young.

He remembers her grabbing his hand across the table, giving it a squeeze, and telling him it wasn't possible, that they couldn't go back, they had too keep looking forward, had to do their jobs, to insure that future they talked about, remember?

He remembers her standing up, him following suit. He remembers her turning to leave, before seeming to change her mind, instead pulling him into a hug, one that was a long time coming, one that didn't last long enough, and ended with him swearing he heard her say that she would make sure their future happened, now matter what, promise.

He remembers the next day she was gone.

He remembers swearing, cursing, wondering what the hell she was doing.

He remembers waiting up for her to come back, just like she always did.

He remembers feeling like everything she ever said to him was a lie, like she had pointed a loaded gun at his heart and pulled the trigger.

He remembers she was his best friend.

He remembers loosing her, only to loose her again when Tex called in to say that C.T had had escaped, severally wounded and likely not going to make it.

Wash remembers wishing he could talk to her, one last time, if only to ask her _why_.

He remembers finding her helmet in the desert, feeling like he was going to be sick but having no time to grieve, he had a job to do. She was in the past, he needed to move on.

He remembers everything getting quiet, all the battles being over and being in his bunk in Blue Base, shipwrecked on an unknown planet, having time to think.

He remembers being flooded with the past, of holding it back like he always did, but ultimately failing.

He could never outrun them, could never forget Connie's smile, the way her brown eyes shined. He could never forget Maine, his comforting presence and silent, huffy laughs or the way Carolina's face changed, just slightly, when she was proud of Wash's progress. He could never forget the weight of North's hand on his shoulder or the feeling of York clapping him on the back.

He wished he could have stayed young forever, could have hid Connie away, collected his friends and taken them far, far away. Away from the bloodshed, the heartbreak, the betrayal, the pain, _all of it_.

But he couldn't.

All he had left of them were his memories, the questions that plagued him that only the dead could answer.

He had his nightmares, of waking up with his chest heaving and fear latching their talons into him. He had his daydreams, of the future he and Connie had dreamed up, of being neighbors and having pets named after each other and bothering each other at one in the morning because their houses were lonely and they wanted to have a pizza party in their pajamas like they used to. He remembers adding York, Carolina, Maine, and North to the dream. Of having the scene change to living in an apartment building together, of adding the other Freelancers because it didn't matter if they had been close or not, they deserved peace too.

He remembers those daydreams melting into a pool at his feet, his insomnia having kept him up until daybreak and him needing to get dressed and fix the radio tower.

He still had a future to fight for, after all.

He just stopped planning for people to be in it.


	15. This is Gospel (Allison)

Summary: _If you love me let me go._

Inspired by "This is Gospel" by Panic! At the Disco.

(Originally written August 12th 2014).

* * *

_"Oh, Leonard."_

She places her hand on his shoulder, he doesn't feel it. Instead, he picks up his coffee with too much sugar that she knew was going to give him a headache. She tells him this, he drinks it anyway. He's been up for over a day, his face covered in graying stubble and darkening circles smudged under his eyes. She sighs, moves to sit on the table in front of him, knowing she can't block his work but tries to do so anyway.

_"You've always been so stubborn."_

He doesn't hear her, instead types another line in his journal, takes another sip of his coffee, and stifles a yawn.

_"Go to bed, Leonard."_

She knows he'll crash soon, head bowed and body bent over his desk. He'll wake up crankier than usual, his back and neck hurting him. He'll snap at the Councilor, push his recruits too far, and do something reckless.

She'll tell him he's being an ass, he won't hear her. She'll try to smack him upside the head like she used to, he won't feel it.

She watches him type another line, she sighs and there is no sound, no breath leaving her lungs, nothing notices her movement.

Alpha pops up to remind him that he's been up for twenty-six hours, Leonard tells him that he can count and that if he needs him he'll get him. Alpha waves his hand at him flippantly, muttering a _'whatever'_ before signing off.

Allison's heart gave a small twinge for the A.I, for the circumstances of his creation, for what she knew was to come for him, if what Leonard's notes said were going to come to fruition.

She had been there for the creation of Alpha, and the subsequent creation of Beta, had seen the way he tried to put together pieces of broken memories. She had been angry, rightfully so, to see that her decision to go out and fight for what she believed in, that her death as a solider fighting for a cause, was being undermined. She knew Leonard missed her, but death happened, it couldn't be erased and trying to do that would cause more harm than good. She knew that her memory counterpart couldn't be kept in the dark forever, that she would learn the truth, and that she would feel the same.

Allison watches the next hour tick by, looks down at Leonard, sees the way his shoulders are hunched, and the way he's leaning heavily on one of his hands. He'll fall asleep soon, wake up too early, and go about his day like everything was fine. How a man so smart could be so stupid, Allison didn't know. She would have made him go to sleep hours ago, maybe dragged him away from his computer. The man did not know how to take care of himself.

But he seemed to think he knew how to take care of others just fine. Allison knows that Leonard thinks he's doing what's best, but that has always been his problem, he always thought he was _right_, that his way was the best way. He thought he knew what was best for everyone, especially the people that he loved. He thought he had their best intentions at heart, but he neglected to communicate, neglected to make sure that what _he_ thought was right for them, matched what _they_ thought was right for them.

Allison shakes her head, watching Leonard as his head falls onto his pillowed arms. She gets off the desk, stands beside him and watches him with sadness and anger warring for dominance on her features.

She looks at his notes, sees that he's still planning on fragmenting Alpha. Sees the list of agents he has, sees names marked out, feels relief when one in particular is still there, wishes it wasn't on the board at all.

_"You're an idiot, Leonard. Don't do this, not to yourself, not to them,"_ She looks a the list of names again, imagines she sees a red haired girl holding her mother's hand, asking where she's going, _"and especially not to her."_

He doesn't hear her, just as she knew he wouldn't. She knows talking to him won't change anything, but she doesn't have long before she has to leave, so she might as well tell him what she should have told him before. Maybe then things would be different.

She leans against the desk, doesn't look at Leonard as she speaks. Neither one of them were ever good with emotions, both too stubborn and proud for their own good, but she had to say this, it was her last chance.

_"Leonard, you're an asshole, but you're my asshole...or, you were,"_ Allison laughs, it sounds bitter and broken in her ears, _"If I knew how obsessive you would become I would have...I would have told you that if you loved me, you would let me go. I wouldn't have made that promise to come back. I would have told you to move on after I was gone, I would have told you to stop chasing ghosts..."_

Allison sighs, turns to look at Leonard, has the urge to tell him to stop sleeping with his glasses on, that he'll break them again and bitch about it until he gets his new ones. She doesn't though, instead she leans over, places a kiss to his forehead that she knows neither one of them feels, and turns to leave.

_"This is going to end badly for you, Leonard, it's going to end badly for all of you, but I'll save you a seat. Bring your wallet though, you're not getting in cheap."_

Then she's gone, leaving nothing but a shadow.


End file.
